The Art of Meditation

S and I have become addicted to hot yoga. Sure, part of it might be the knowledge that it burns almost 1000 calories per 90 minute session (!!) but it also makes our skin feel amazing and we feel super cleansed.

I even feel like eating salad afterwards.

I know, right?

We went to another class on Monday night, S wanting to work off a McChicken sandwich and me wanting to work off a large amount of chocolate consumed earlier in the day (some of which may have been eaten before lunch. Don’t judge me).

I don’t know if the heat was on higher than usual or we were just in a spot that got very poor circulation, but it was bloody hot in that room. The thing is, when I’m working out with a lot of people around, I tend to push myself a little more so I don’t feel quite so inadequate.

Newsflash? You can’t do that in hot yoga. Seriously, your body, like, won’t let you. My heart started pounding, my head was spinning, and holding my arms in the air felt like the hardest exercise in the world. If you push past your limit, you will die.

So while everyone is holding Warrior 3 for hours on end, I curl down into Child’s Pose to catch my breath. Also, I can’t see everyone else so I forget that there are much fitter people all around me.

Well I mean, really. Watching the little blonde Gumby-like freak ahead of me curl her body into ridiculous poses while I couldn’t even touch my foot with my legs straight just makes me feel really bad about myself, and that’s not what yoga is about, okay?!

Ahem.

So, it was hot. The studio just got new windows installed that open (novelty!) but they obviously don’t open them very much because that would defeat the purpose of hot yoga. Maybe they think people won’t sweat as much? Which, unless you’re me, is probably true.

The windows were open the tiniest little crack. I, in my desperation for air that wasn’t thick with the sweat of 29 other people and cranked to a toasty 100 degree Fahrenheit, crouched toward the window in the hope of catching a tiny breeze.

Ah, bliss! I found that if I knelt in front of the window, tilted my head to the side at about a 90 degree angle, and pressed my nose directly against the little window so that my nostrils were placed quite prominently on the window’s edge (think Miss Piggy), I could breathe cold air. And that’s what I did.

Please keep in mind that the windows face a very busy street. And they don’t have curtains on them.

Whatever. It helped. So suck it.

Finally, the end of class was upon us. Since meditation is an integral part of the yoga practice, we ended the class with a collective “om” that would release any tension that built up as a result of some of the more difficult moves.

Or something.

All I know is that I couldn’t get enough air in my lungs to last even halfway through the “om” and, even if I could, it wouldn’t have happened because S couldn’t hold the laughter in any longer.

And, by extension, that means I couldn’t, either.

It started with hearing S snicker. As soon as I heard her, I lost control of my own laughter and started to shake uncontrollably as I prayed to Buddha (what? It’s yoga, it’s like his thing) that I wouldn’t snort. I kind of hope it looked like I was crying, what with being so emotional as I became in tune with my body.

S tried to cover her hysterics by pretending to sneeze into her towel. She’s actually that awesome.

Everyone meditates differently. We just happen to do it by laughing ourselves into hysterics.

And you know what? A laughing fit with a close friend is better meditation and relaxation than any yoga practice.

Hugs and kisses,

Bella

(Oh, yeah, the hugs and kisses? It’s kind of this new thing I’m trying, you know, as a sign off. Jury’s still out.)